


Best Laid Plans

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Regret, Shaw being Shaw, Some Humor Before Things Turn Deadly Serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 18:12:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16792129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Reese finally convinces Finch to learn how to use a gun. Things don't work out the way he'd planned, go figure!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this simmering with a bunch of other stuff for a while now and since I've hit a bit of a wall lately I decided to try and jump start my writing again. I keep swearing to myself that I won't put anything new out before I tie up a few of the others but as the title suggests, best laid plans don't often turn out the way you want them too.  
> Thanks as always to oddgit for everything she does!  
> 

John Reese had tried many times over the years he’s known Harold Finch to get the recluse to learn how to protect himself with a gun only to be met with a resounding and absolute ‘ _No_ _Mister Reese_ ’ every time.

But things were different now. With Harold’s dogged insistence that he be allowed to help out more in the field, therefore putting himself into perilous situations much more than John was comfortable with, _both_ their lives were constantly being put into life and death situations.

There had been far too many close calls lately with Harold’s safety and John wasn’t going to accept his stalwart answer of _no_ any longer. John decided that he was going to do everything in his power to convince his partner to learn how to use a gun safely and effectively so as to be able to defend himself should the need arise.

And if need be, John would give his stubborn partner an ultimatum. _He hoped it wouldn’t come to that but he would make a threat to Harold if he absolutely had to_. John would tell him that he would no longer be able to do his job properly if he had to constantly worry about, not only his own well-being on a case, but Harold’s too. As a result John would have to convince him that he was willing to walk away from the job. It wasn’t a nice way to coerce him but Harold’s life and his own piece of mind was well worth the risk of potentially taking some backlash for his demand.

John hated to even think about how his partner would react to that kind of mandate. He wasn’t entirely sure what Harold would do or what he’d think with such an awful choice. He was well aware of Harold’s abhorrence of anything and everything as destructive as a gun could be, but he felt fervently that he had to try one more time to convince his benevolent partner that it was in both of their best interests to do so. 

“Please, Finch,” John began as the two men entered the loft. “Will you just humor me for a little while?”

“I really have no idea why it’s so important to you that I know how to brandish a firearm, Mister Reese.” Harold shook his head in exasperation as they approached the large room John had customized and devoted to his vast arsenal of high-end weaponry. Harold had been in that room before and recalled his unease just being in such close proximity of the destructive and deadly armaments.

“You’ve had a few close calls lately and I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you at least had a chance of defending yourself against an armed opponent,” John answered pointedly.

It was true. Harold couldn’t argue that he had been in peril on a few occasions now but he categorically detested weapons of every kind, and John knew it.

So why his annoyingly determined partner persisted with the same bothersome matter over and over again… Perhaps John figured if he kept pestering him long enough, he’d finally cave in and agree to at least _try_ to make the attempt and seeing where it would lead. And as irksome as it had become, in the end it seems to have finally worked.

Harold had become so worn down, he decided at long last to appease John and give in to the unsavory idea so they could put it behind them… at least that’s what Harold hoped for.

The array of weapons that John had chosen for his partner to look at ran the gamut between a selection of 9mm handguns up to and including John’s prized homage to _‘Dirty Harry’_ \- a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum, complete with custom grips, adjustable sights and 5 different barrel lengths

Harold looked the lot over with revulsion and picked up the obviously huge handgun on the end and ogled at it repulsively while holding it away from himself like it was going to bite him. He almost needed both hands to hold it, it was so heavy. “This…” he remarked as he scowled at it, “is a canon for Pete’s sake. When would I _ever_ need to use something of this sort?”

John took the hefty pistol out of Harold’s hands, “Putting this one aside…” John said and chuckled, laying the .357 well away from them. “For you, Harold, I was thinking more along the lines of one of these.” John chose a P226 Legion SIG Sauer with a comfortable G-10 epoxy fiberglass grip from the assortment and handed it over gingerly to his dubious partner.

“I hardly think I’d be any good at this.” Harold said derisively. “You know my aversion to these barbaric devices.” He accepted the gun begrudgingly, it seemed he didn’t have much of a choice at this stage. He looked it over, carefully let it sit in his hand, felt the heft of it, but didn't put his finger anywhere near the trigger while John grinned inwardly, considering it a small victory on his side. The gun he chose for Harold was on the small side and pleasing to the eye as well as a good means of defense. He figured that if nothing else, Finch might at least see the beauty in the craftsmanship of the piece.

“Just hold it, grip it, and see what you think about the weight and the feel of it.” John picked a similar style and showed his hesitant partner the correct way to handle it.

Harold watched John handle his weapon with such ease and confidence, he knew he himself was being childish about the whole thing.

If it was this important to John that he learn how to fire one of these disgusting things, then he would appease him for the time being and just hope he never actually had to use one while he was out in the field.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d met up with Fusco and Shaw at a shooting range on the Lower East Side. Fusco knew the owner, a former detective who’d been shot on the job a few years back by his confidential informant. The terrible injury didn’t manage to take the man’s life but it did cost him his mobility when a high caliber round to his lower spine severed the nerves and resulted in him becoming paraplegic.

Shaw piped up when she saw them coming, “It’s about time,” she remarked and hopped down from a long sorting table holding a variety of weapons. “So much for being prompt.”

Harold and John ignored her naturally charming way of welcoming them and walked over to the small band of three.

Lionel made the introductions. “This is my buddy Pete Rodriguez. He owns this place and three others around town.” He glanced up at Reese and indicated with his thumb, “This tall drink of water here is Reese.” John didn’t bother acknowledging Lionel’s attempted humor, “And this is his snazzy partner, Finch.”

Harold grimaced at the detective’s introduction and stuck his hand out to their new acquaintance, “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Rodriguez,” he said as he leaned forward and pumped Pete’s hand graciously.

“My pleasure,” Pete replied and shook John’s hand as well, “Lionel has told me a little bit about what kind of weapons you like, John, but he was clueless about your preference, Harold.”

Harold bristled, “My preference would be never to touch a firearm, Mister Rodriguez, but it seems my friend here,” Harold side-eyed John and continued with some irritation, “has convinced me that it might be in my own best interest if I were to at least have the capability of defending myself if a situation called for it.”

“He’s humoring me,” John offered dryly. 

Pete grinned “Well, I’ll leave you to it then and if there’s anything you need, you know where to find me,” he said and made ready to wheel himself back towards his office. “It was nice meeting you all.”

“And you as well, Mister Rodriguez,” Harold replied cordially.

“Catch ya later, Pete,” Lionel called after him.

“So, where are we gonna start?” Shaw was enthusiastically rubbing her hands together as she looked over the lot.

“We’re going to do this the right way, Shaw,” John chastised her. “We don’t want to scare Finch off before we get a gun in his hand.”

“You do seem a little overly eager, Miss Shaw,” Harold said distastefully.

“Yeah, yeah, take it easy I get it,” she replied and picked up a 9mm Glock from the table and looked it over.

John placed the small bag carrying the weapon he chose for Harold on the table and unzipped it.

“Wow that’s a beauty!” Lionel said, “Mind if I take a look?”

“By all means detective,” Finch replied eagerly, “The longer I can go without a weapon in my hands the better I’ll feel.”

“Come on, Finch, you might enjoy it a little if you just let yourself go,” John said gruffly.

Listen Harold,” Shaw interjected, “just try _not_ to envision it as the killing machine it was intended to be. Think of it as a manual dexterity thing.” She grinned and swiftly pointed the Glock in her hand towards the target, firing off three rounds center mass at the man shaped panel. “It’s an eye hand coordination thing.” She grinned and looked back at the men. “It’s over, Finch. You can take your fingers out of your ears.”

Harold opened his eyes, “Even the sound makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable.”

John pulled out a pair of ear plugs and handed them over to his nervous partner, “Yeah, well, you’re just going to have to get used to it for now.”

Harold snatched them from John along with the proffered goggles and waited agitatedly at what was coming next.

“You got yourself a nice piece there, professor,” Lionel stated and laid the gun in front of him.

Harold looked at it skeptically, “All right, tell me what to do.” He looked pointedly at John, “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

John took a calming breath and motioned for Harold to take his jacket off.

Finch complied and set it off to the side while the group waited for him to pick up the weapon.

“Now, just remember how I showed you to hold it and get it ready to fire,” John said and put in his own ear plugs while Harold followed suit. “You’ll do fine, Finch. Trust me.”

Harold looked at him nervously, _“Famous last words…”_ he mumbled under his breath, “Well here goes nothing, I suppose.” Harold took the P226 Sig in his hands and took the safety off tentatively, making sure to point it only toward the intended target.

“Finch…?” John said. Harold looked at him questioningly, “Your goggles,” he stated, pointing at his eyes and smiled.

“Ah, yes.” Harold placed the safety glasses over his own lenses and made ready to fire the gun. He was extremely anxious about the whole thing.

Taking this step went against everything he believed in, held dear. He was a man of peace, not of violence and he had been struggling with his decision of letting John convince him to do this for days. But he was also a man of his word. He’d agreed to go against his better judgement and now the time had come. He couldn’t back down at this point. 

“Just pull the trigger gently, but firmly. Take your time,” John encouraged him.

Harold gripped the weapon with both hands, using one to steady the butt of the gun, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, raised the barrel towards the target, aimed and squeezed the trigger.


	3. Chapter 3

With complete resolve and determination Harold remembered his partner’s preliminary instructions and followed them to a tee, _‘Eyes open, keep it steady, relax and easy does it…aim… and… fire.’_

_“Pop”…”Pop”…”Pop”…”Pop”… “Pop”_

He did exactly as John had instructed him to do and with the single-minded purpose of just getting through this challenge, he tuned everything out around him and he’d done it.

“Holy shit!” Shaw exclaimed and pushed the retractor button for the target to come back towards them. “You’re a fucking natural, Finch!”

“Miss Shaw,” Harold chastised her mildly, “language, please.” He was pretty proud of himself; he’d actually hit the thing.

John and Lionel stood there and stared at the panel, mouths agape as it came to a stop in front of them.

Shaw held the sheet out and grinned ear to ear, “I gotta say,” she began enthusiastically, “I’ve never seen anyone hit their mark as well as you did right out of the gate Harold. You nailed it; every single shot was a kill.”

“Please don’t say _kill,_ Miss Shaw. I hope never to have to use it in reference to myself, it’s such an ugly word.”

“Oh, grow a pair Finch,” she retorted, “You just decimated this panel of _cardboard_. Get over it.”

“Are you sure you never fired a gun before professor?” Lionel asked astounded by the display of aptitude they’d all just witnessed. “Maybe a BB-gun or something? I mean, I could see two… maybe three rounds finding their mark... but five?”

“I can assure you, detective, I’ve never so much as touched anything of the sort in my entire life,” Harold replied evenly. “Mister Reese?” They all looked at John who was still standing there dumbfounded, “Are you alright?”

John snapped out of his stupor and blurted out, “Are you shitting me, Finch?” he exclaimed. “You did it…” he laughed, “by God, you did it!”

“Yes,” Harold grinned, “I suppose I did.” He was quite surprised with himself. He didn’t have the visceral reaction of sickness he thought he might have; in fact he may have to admit it to himself… he actually enjoyed it a little.

“How’d it feel?” Shaw asked, interested to get her stuffy boss’s take on what he thought about accomplishing one of the things he probably detested most in the world. She couldn’t believe it herself and if she wasn’t mistaken, Harold seemed okay, like he actually didn’t want to throw up like she half expected him to, “Do you wanna go some more?” she asked, with a smirk.

They all looked at Harold in anticipation, especially John. He was stunned to say the least by his partner’s seemingly effortless aptitude with the weapon. It seemed that Finch had an endless store of hidden talents and it never ceased to amaze him.

“Well…” Harold declared. “I suppose we should dispel any question of whether or not this display was a fluke.” He tried to hide the enthusiasm he was feeling, “Let’s, as you said Miss Shaw, go some more.” He knew he’d failed quelling his eagerness when they all grinned at him with amusement.

“Do you want to try another weapon?” John asked.

“I quite like this one for now, thank you,” Harold replied and watched Shaw attach another target to the wire and send it out where the first one had been. “As I’ve said, if we are to prove that my proficiency was warranted, I must use this particular firearm to do it.”

Lionel looked at John and rolled his eyes behind Harold’s back while John chuckled quietly. “You’ve got ten more rounds in there, Finch. Let’s see what you can do.”

Harold nodded. “I think I’ll empty the clip this time,” he said readily.

“Alright, you’re all set,” Shaw announced and backed away from Harold’s space and stood beside her colleagues. _“I got twenty says he nails it again,”_ she whispered to them both.

Lionel nodded taking her up on it, he always was a gambling man.

John just shook his head, he wasn’t touching that bet. Besides, he was still trying to process the fact that his partner had just stated that he was going to _‘empty the clip.’_

“Thank you, Miss Shaw… _Now let’s see_ …” Harold put the safety goggles back over his frames and turned to face the long expanse of room towards the target. He set his feet and gripped the gun with both hands as before, murmuring to himself, _“Stance is right… steady…relax, easy does it… aim… and…”_

 _*Pop*…*Pop*… *Pop*… *Pop*…_ Harold finished firing all ten rounds and once again everyone’s mouths dropped in astonishment.

Lionel blinked a few times while John stood in awe.

Shaw’s grin wouldn’t leave her face as she brought the target towards them for the second time. “Thanks, Finch,” she stated happily and stuck her hand out towards Lionel.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll give it to you later,” he grumbled.

Harold eyed them suspiciously but good-naturedly, “See there, Harold. I knew it wasn’t a fluke. You should have been a sniper,” she said gleefully.

“Miss Shaw, _please_ …” he retorted but he had to chuckle. He was a lot better at this than he thought he’d be. Not to mention the fact that he really did enjoy the satisfaction of being so adept at hitting his mark so consistently.

John picked his jaw up from the floor, “You know, Finch, as much as it pains me to say this, Shaw might be right,” he said admiringly. “You really do seem to be a natural marksman.”

“Well, I don’t know if we can go that far,” Harold replied sheepishly. “I believe Miss Shaw was correct when she posited that the mechanics of firing a weapon accurately has mostly to do with hand eye coordination.” He looked at John and stated confidently, “And with that aspect of my abilities, I have never been in doubt.”

John smiled and nodded in agreement, “I’ve seen your skills first hand, Finch. I agree wholeheartedly.”

“Now then…” Harold announced jovially and perused the row of handguns, “What’s next?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!!!!!!!

“Whoa now, Finch. Let’s just slow down some and let you get you accustomed to this one for right now,” John said coolly. “Then maybe we’ll move on to the next thing another time.” John was nervous all of a sudden.

He saw something in his partner’s countenance he didn’t think he’d ever see in regards to a weapon of any sort... he saw zeal in Harold’s eyes and he was highly uncomfortable with it.

“Yeah, Finch, we wouldn’t want you to go getting too enthusiastic about being able to _protect yourself_ with the knowhow of handling more than one gun at a time,” Shaw retorted sarcastically and glared at John, “I think he’s more than proven he knows how to fire that particular weapon. Why not let him try another one?” _What was Reese’s problem?_ She thought irritably.

He should be all for Harold familiarizing himself with as many weapons as he possibly could, so he at least had a chance of taking care of himself out in the field, not to mention it might help ease all their minds a little bit at the same time. She just couldn’t understand his reluctance on the matter and it annoyed her to no end.

“Yeah, I hate to say it but maybe she’s right,” Lionel added. “I mean, the one he’s got is pretty and all but it’s kinda tame, ya know?” Lionel picked up the P226 and appraised it again, “Maybe he _should_ take the next step up. Just so he knows the difference.”

“How is it that _I’m_ the one being the voice of reason here?” John replied irritably. “And yeah, maybe the one I picked for him to start with doesn’t pack as much heat as some of these others, but it’ll sure as hell get the job done, _Lionel,_ ” he said venomously then looked at Harold who just stood there quietly and listened to the exchange with an amused look on his face.

“I _would_ like to try another one actually,” he said evenly. “This whole undertaking has not turned out to be the disaster I thought it would.” he beamed at the group, “In fact, it’s much more enjoyable than I could ever have anticipated.”

John could hardly believe what he was hearing, especially from Harold, “Yeah it’s all fun and games until you have to use it on someone,” he scoffed. This wasn’t going the way he thought it would at all. He wasn’t sure why he felt so opposed to the idea of Harold actually enjoying the experience but he _was_ sure of one thing… he had a bad feeling about it.

“Now, John, let’s talk about this rationally for a moment,” Harold began speaking in his analytical tone.

The one that got under his skin at times… _and this may be exactly one of those times,_ John thought to himself.

“We’re here to help me get past my aversion to these weapons, are we not?” He smiled cheekily. “It’s not as if I’m going to run out there and start shooting people just because it seems I have an innate ability to do so.”

“Jesus, Finch,” John retorted. “Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” John felt dizzy, like he just got sucker punched or something. “Are you even hearing yourself?” This alternate reality he found himself in was making his head spin.

“I think he was kidding, Reese,” Shaw spoke up irritated. She couldn’t see why John was getting all uptight about it. It was his idea to begin with, what in the hell did he want? It looked to her like the day couldn’t get any better and here he was acting like somebody just ran over his dog or something.

John wished that he would have done this thing with Harold alone, the other two weren’t helping him keep his gung-ho partner reigned in at all. In fact, they were only making things worse.

“Listen, Harold. We did come here to help you get over your aversion to guns, but that’s only one of the reasons we’re here. I can’t have you getting ahead of yourself. I need you to be comfortable with everything you handle, not rushing through it. This needs to happen gradually and you seem all set to just dive right in without testing the waters first.” His argument wasn’t going well; he could feel it, and Shaw and Lionel were useless to him.

“He’s not a pussy, Reese. Just let him have fun with it,” Shaw spouted off.

“Miss Shaw, _please_ …” Harold let out a breath of frustration. “Why do manners offend you so?”

Shaw rolled her eyes but before she could make a retort of any kind he continued swiftly.

“If it’s that important to you, John, I’ll do as you suggest and just practice with the weapon you chose for me.”

John breathed a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Finch. It would make me feel better about the whole thing.”

Harold gave him a weak smile and nodded, “Alright then. Let’s just get loaded up and have some more fun.” _Maybe he was getting ahead of himself_.

He trusted John implicitly in all things and respected his guidance and opinion but he still couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.

“Now that’s what I’m talkin bout,” Lionel exclaimed happily and eyeballed a Ruger LCR .38 midnight special double-action revolver a few pieces over. “That one looks like a hell of a lot a fun.”

“Pick again, big-boy,” Shaw grinned and went for the powerful gun herself. “You can give it a shot after I’m done with it,” she smirked at him, “Get it? _Give it a shot…’_

Lionel scoffed, “Yeah I get it.” Lionel put his hand out expectantly. “Real funny but I got first dibs on it so hand it over.”

“How do you figure that?” she scowled.

“Pete’s _my_ buddy and if you don’t give it up, I’ll make it so you never get to come back here to play with his toys again.” he grinned openly.

“Now that’s cold, Lionel.” She handed the gun over.

Lionel snickered just, “Yeah, maybe I do got a mean streak in me.”

“I’ll tell you what, Finch,” John offered, placating everyone involved. “This was my second choice for you to start with.” John picked up a lightweight Springfield XD-s from the array and looked it over, making doubly sure it was set up and ready to go before handing it to his partner butt first. “What’s say you give this one a try?”

Harold took it gingerly, “My, that is light isn’t it?” he remarked and turned the small firearm around in his hands, “Yes, let’s give it a try shall we?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are quiet for now but will soon be heating up.

\--- Three Months Later ---

“Maybe I _should_ have considered a career in the clandestine arts.” Harold teased John jovially from his desk chair in the library. “I am a lot more open to the idea now.”

“You sure are cocky nowadays, Finch,” John retorted lightheartedly. “Teach a man how to shoot a few different kinds of weapons and he thinks he’s Jason Bourne.”

“Please, I prefer James Bond thank you very much, he’s more my generation. As a matter of fact.” He grinned cheekily, “Due to my innate and natural proclivity with such a vast array of firearms, Miss Shaw informed me about the position of _target pliability expert?_ ”

John studied his partner dubiously, “You are kidding, right?”

Harold laughed, taking John completely off guard. “Of course I’m pulling your leg. Could you imagine _me_ ever making a career of firing a weapon on a daily basis? Never mind that the job is totally concocted. I think she was just testing whether I would actually believe her or not.”

“Phew, that’s a relief,” John sighed while Harold grinned away. “I mean, I’d kinda miss the Harold Finch of a few months ago,” he huffed, “if you suddenly _wanted_ to carry a gun and truly _enjoyed_ it. I’m not sure how I’d feel about that.”

“Yes,” Harold’s demeanor began to turn solemn in preparation for his next act. “For me, that truly would be out of character. Not to mention it is highly improbable that I would ever even _consider_ such an unsavory idea were it actually true.” He opened his desk drawer and looked at his shoulder holstered firearm for a long moment before picking it up gingerly and setting it on his desk while he stood up and took his jacket off. _‘I wish I’d never agreed to do this,_ ’ he thought uneasily.

John noticed how serious his partner’s mood had gone. Today would mark the first day since Harold had learned how to carry and safely utilize a gun that he’d be out on a case by himself. He and John both prayed silently that the necessity to use it would not arise.

They’d already gone over the best way for Harold to carry a concealed weapon and came to the conclusion that for his disabilities and inexperience with carrying one regularly, a custom shoulder harness would work best for him.

Harold had practiced for days on how to draw the weapon from the holster as seamlessly as possible without hanging it up in the inner lining of his jacket.

John knew he wasn’t the only one that was nervous, but he couldn’t let his anxious partner know how he felt. To maintain Harold’s confidence, it was vital that he show complete faith in his partner’s new found abilities. But regardless, that didn’t change the fact that if it were up to him, Finch would never be required to leave the library and certainly _never_ need to put his skillful hands on a gun. In this case though there was no other choice since Fusco was unavailable to work with them at the moment and John couldn’t be in three places at once. Harold _had_ to do some of the leg work as Shaw was already taking care of the third loose end.

John watched his partner very carefully thread his arms through the leather straps and adjust the custom harness so that it sat as comfortably as possible against his shoulders and back.

It was something he’d never get used to seeing and something he hoped he’d never have to. The gun hanging along Harold’s left side dangling there as it was, was almost enough to make him put a stop to the whole idea of Harold being involved physically altogether.

It was just _wrong_ in every way but he knew Harold would _always_ put the numbers and the cases involved before himself, no matter what. Putting aside his own beliefs and moral standards to accommodate John’s wishes proved that fact without any shadow of a doubt. Finch had done all of this for him and that momentous reality was not lost on the former op.

“Look, Finch,” John began as optimistically as he possibly could. “There’s really not much chance you’ll even have to be aware of its presence, the warehouse should be empty and I don’t expect the guys to go back there for any reason today.”

Harold looked morose as he shrugged back into his suit jacket, but didn’t comment, “Shaw and I will snatch them up and get Fusco to do his part later. You’ll never even come in contact with another person.” Harold didn’t look convinced as he adjusted the lapels, ensuring that nothing could be seen by any outside observer.

“Thank you,” Harold replied. “I know you’re trying to ease my mind and I appreciate it, truly… I hope you’re right.” He smiled reluctantly, “I know what I have to do and once I take the required photos and document the weapons on site, I will be out of there in no time.”

John took a deep breath and nodded, trying to hide his nervousness.

“I’ll be fine, John. Don’t worry about me.” Harold smiled, trying to appear more assured with his part, “Just concentrate on your end and try to make sure Miss Shaw doesn’t get too enthusiastic about her part in things.”

“I’ll do what I can but you know her.” John smiled, “Now get in and get out. Stay in contact and it’ll all be over before you know it.”

Harold smiled nervously and headed toward the stairs, “Be careful, Mister Reese.”

“You do the same, Finch. It’ll be fine.”

The two men descended the stairs and John watched his partner make a last minute adjustment to his jacket.

Once they were on the street Harold turned back towards him, “I’ll see you soon,” he said assuredly.

“See you later tonight,” John replied and smiled.

Both men turned and went in separate directions, intent on fulfilling their respective roles on the case.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold finds himself in trouble...

After double checking all the available feeds through the Machine and ensuring that the warehouse and surrounding property was indeed clear of anyone else, Harold drove to the secluded area near a private marina. He pulled into the space directly in front of the entrance. _‘Get in and get out’,_ he reminded himself nervously.

He got out of the car and took his lock picking implements from his coat pocket and put them to work. ‘ _I never would have dreamed this would come so easily to me.’_ He thought ironically as the locking mechanism released and opened with an audible * _click_.*

He let himself inside the building quickly and closed the door behind him, sorely aware of the extra bulk and weight of the gun dangling against his side.

John had tried to convince him that the more often he wore the firearm the less obvious and intrusive it would be to him, but he couldn’t be convinced and he hoped he’d _never_ have to become comfortable carrying it.

He looked across the large expanse of the room and although the place was sparsely lit, he could see a number of large crates covering most of the open floor plan.

_‘There’s much more here than we imagined.’_ He thought uncomfortably and walked to one of the crates. The top had already been pried off and he finished removing it fully before taking a look inside.

His current unease doubled and then some when he saw what was there. Moving aside copious amounts of straw and other shipping material, he found not the weapons they had expected, but numerous wrapped, compact bundles of what appeared to be cocaine throughout the container.

This new discovery raised the stakes exponentially as well as his own apprehension. He tapped his ear piece anxiously. He was suddenly and acutely aware that he was now in way over his head and needed to get out of there, “Mister Reese, I’m afraid I’m out of my depth here,” he said and quickly and snapped some photos with his cell phone. “There are mass quantities of drugs in addition to the weapons… we have to get the police here immediately to secure everything before they can get back and move it.”

“Mister Reese?” He tapped his ear again intently. “John, are you there?”

*************

“Finch, get out of there!” Shaw exclaimed again uselessly for the fourth time.

For whatever reason, Harold wasn’t answering her attempts to warn him. She switched her ear piece over to John’s frequency and connected to him without difficulty, “This thing has gone pear shaped, Reese. Marco is headed back to the warehouse and he’s not alone.” John could hear the sounds of gun fire in the background. “Finch isn’t responding. Something’s affecting the comms.” John heard a hitch in Shaw’s voice, she’d probably been hit he imagined, “they’ll be on him any minute. He has to get out of there now!”

“What the fuck, Shaw?” John replied heatedly, “You were supposed to take Marco and his brother down!” Reese finished taking out the second group of men they’d been tailing, and his fear for his partner’s life peaked with the urgency in Shaw’s tone.

“They enlisted more men to cover their tracks and I can’t get through to Harold. Now I’m stuck having to hunker down with a shit load of guys shooting at me. How the fuck was I supposed to know?!”

John tapped his ear urgently, “Finch? Harold, can you hear me?”

“Mister Reese,” Harold breathed a momentary sigh of relief, “Oh thank goodness. There’s much more here than here than we expected.” Harold looked around the large room again, taking a mental note of just how many crates and boxes covered the majority of the floor. He’d never seen so many weapons, in addition to the drugs, in one location before. “Detective Fusco has to hurry and secure this location immediately.”

John didn’t mince words, “You have to get out of there _now!_ There are men on their way to that location.”

When he heard the panic in John’s voice, Harold knew he was in trouble. A wave of heat came over him and his heart leapt to his throat when he suddenly heard someone at the entrance.

Immediately following the sound, Harold could hear the voices of two men in hushed tones as he looked around desperately for somewhere to hide. “John, there’s nowhere to go. They’re already here.”

John could hear the muffled sounds of movement, hopefully Harold getting away but then he heard a menacing singsong voice in the distance say, “We know you’re here. Come out, come out wherever you are.”

“I…, I’m going to have to try to frighten them off,” Harold whispered anxiously.

“Harold get out of there right now if you can,” John urged him, “leave… just go, hurry!”

“There’s nothing I can do John, they've see me, they're coming.” Harold’s voice sounded detached suddenly and John’s fear had never been as pronounced as it was in this moment. His own worst nightmare seems to have come to pass. Harold was in danger and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help him.

John tried to school his own dread, “Finch, stay calm. You’re going to have to hold your own until I can get there.” He ran outside and made it to his car, “This is where all your training comes in. You shoot them if you have to, shoot them so they go down. You have to incapacitate them and if necessary Harold… you shoot to kill.” John started the car and put it into gear, wasting no time, he screeched onto the road. “Finch!” he urged his partner impatiently, “Harold, did you hear me?”

The regret and hesitancy in his partner’s voice scared the hell out of him as Harold replied, “Goodbye John…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up for Harold... in a bad way.

Harold tapped his earwig, intending to close communications with John, but in reality he’d only disconnected John’s side and unintentionally left his own open.

He couldn’t stand the thought of John having to hear what was going to happen over the line… just in case things didn’t turn out the way he hoped they would.

John could hear everything happening at the scene, but was powerless to speak to Harold, to offer him any instruction or guidance.

 _“Stay were you are_ _.”_ John heard Harold demand steadily, _“The authorities are on the way.”_

John pressed harder on the gas pedal and listened intently to the interaction on Harold’s end of the line, ‘Hang in there, Finch,’ he thought to himself. He could practically feel Harold’s fear and anxiousness running through him.

John could vaguely hear something else going on over the line but couldn’t quite understand what was happening until he heard a man say, _“Well lookie here, we got a_ _trespasser. You’ve got one hell of a nerve, asshole.”_

John knew the man was right on top of Harold now and he darted around the other cars on the road, swerving through the heavy traffic as fast as he could. He was close and prayed to God that he would get there in time to stop whatever was about to happen.

“I won’t tell you again…” Harold said, trying to make his voice sound cold and hard, but just knew he was doing a poor job of it. He thought of his alter ego Mister Egret and hastily attempted to take on that persona. “This is your last chance,” he stated coldly. “I _will_ kill you,” he threatened the man as convincingly as he could manage. “I told you to stay where you are.”

The man smiled with sharp teeth. “There are worse things than dying…” he replied coolly, “and I know most of them.”

John could hear the heartless laughter of the villain and then he heard Harold’s resolve crumbling as he said, _“Please…”_ to the man.

The fear in his partner’s entreaty and the desperation in that one word turned John’s blood cold. This violent man was not going to back down and he knew it. “Finch you’re going to have to shoot him!” he screamed uselessly, rage engulfing him at his helplessness. “Shoot him, dammit!”

“You’re not going to kill anyone,” Marco taunted him. “You’re a pussy. I can see it in your face.”

“I will, I promise you. I know how to use this thing,” Harold warned him a third time.

Marco laughed again mockingly and pulled a knife out from somewhere before Harold knew it, “Just because you know how to pull a trigger doesn’t mean you can shoot another human being. Now I suggest you just hand that over to me before you hurt somebody.”

“Stop!” Harold raised his voice hoping the man would just stay where he was, “Don’t make me… _please_ _,_ ” he tried again in vain. The man stepped closer and brandished the blade. Harold’s head began to spin, the situation progressed so fast he couldn’t think straight.

John could hear his partner’s breathing change, becoming loud and fast and knew Harold was terrified. Something was about to give. He just hoped like hell it would be Harold that would come through on top, that he would protect himself at all cost.

Then John heard one last plea from his terrified partner… _“Please stop…!”_ then he heard a commotion, Harold was struggling with the man, he could almost envision what was going on before a deafening shot rang loud in his ears.

His heart leapt to his throat as he listened for some indication of exactly what happened. “Finch!” John shouted, still knowing that Harold wouldn’t have been able to hear him but he couldn’t stop himself from trying anyway. “Finch!” 

Harold watched everything happening in slow motion, the man sliding down his body, clutching onto his arms before losing his grasp and dropping to the floor, dead.

John heard a choked sob come from Harold’s mouth then, _“I killed him.”_ He was saying, _“Oh God, I… I’ve… I’ve killed him.”_ He was in shock, John could hear it in his voice.

Harold was frozen where he stood, gaping at the dead man at his feet. _“I’ve killed him…”_

At first, relief washed over John from the knowledge that Harold had pulled the trigger and saved his own life, but then John felt his own despair overwhelm him in the sound of Harold’s incoherent babbling.

The realization of the whole situation hit him like a sledgehammer. When it came right down to it, John knew it was his responsibility, not Harold’s that the man was dead but _that_ didn’t mean a damn thing. Finch was going to have to live with this for the rest of his life all because _he_ insisted that Harold learn how to use a gun.

A tattered gasp met his ears as Harold finally opened his side of the coms, “Joh… John….”

“Harold, calm yourself down,” he pleaded “You had to defend yourself; you had no other choice. Just stay put and I’ll be there in five minutes. Stay calm until…” Before John could finish trying to console his partner, he heard the muffled, rustling of fabric and the gasping breaths of panic from Harold and the other man. He’d forgotten that Shaw had said that Marco wasn’t alone…

Before he had a chance to say a word he heard a man’s voice he didn’t recognize through the com, _“You son of a bitch!”_ the man screamed furiously. _“You bastard!_ _You killed my brother!”_

John heard Harold breathless and struggling again as he was trying to physically fight the man off. _“You’ll pay for this, damn you! I’ll kill you!”_ He must have come up on Harold from behind and all he could do was listen to the scuffle ensue, quickly followed by grunting and panting as the fight continued.

John was helpless and had no time to say anything else but “Finch!” before another shot rang out, a cry of rage from the man and another crack of gunfire immediately following, ringing loud and ominously. And then there was silence.

“Finch!” he screamed again with no reply. “Harold! I’m coming, hold on... just hold on!” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold is gravely wounded and his fate is uncertain...

Blood had soaked through every layer of Harold’s suit when he’d finally gotten to him. The blood loss had swiftly drained his strength and very nearly the life from his partner’s body. John saw the color had faded in his features and his face was so drawn and pale, he feared he was already too late until a soft groan emanated from Harold’s lips.

There was no time to lose; he had to forestall any additional blood loss or Harold would be dead in a matter of minutes. He prayed that Shaw and the ambulance Lionel had called for would arrive in time to save him. 

The man that had shot his partner lay on his side just a few feet away from them in an expanding pool of his own blood, while his brother lay at his feet. John thought that they were both dead, but he didn’t worry about either of them right now. Both guns sat in-between them covered in blood, mostly Harold’s blood, and the sight left John feeling sick.

Harold was quickly going into shock and John tore his own jacket off and pressed it against the wound in his side, trying to stop the blood loss. He couldn’t tell if the bullet had hit any major organs, but if he lost much more blood, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He slid his arm around Harold’s shoulders and lifted him from the cold cement floor and into his arms. “Help’s on the way, Finch… stay with me.”

Harold pushed his slick, bloodied hands against Johns feebly, instinctively and ineffectively. He painted John’s tanned skin crimson red as he tried desperately to stop the agonizing pressure that was being applied against his seeping wound. Harold’s skin was like ice against John’s, “It… it hurts.” He twisted in John’s embrace, unable to lay still through the onslaught. 

Harold was only semiconscious but he felt another presence, “Joh…John?” He gasped. Taking a shuddering breath he opened his eyes weakly, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs through the miasma of pain that was quickly escalating through his body.

He latched on to his partner’s gaze, “John, it’s… cold,” a violent full-bodied shiver ran through him while John held him as closely as he dared. He was trying to share his own body heat with him but knew it wasn’t enough. John felt overwhelmed with emotion and nothing he could say or do would stop the shock Harold’s body was enduring and he looked around the area desperately for something more than his own bloody clothing to cover him with.

“I… I’m, cold.” Harold knew he was quickly losing the battle raging inside and he wasn’t sure he was going to make it. He wanted more than anything for John to know how much he had come to mean to him. “John, I…” but he couldn’t make his lungs work long enough to form a coherent sentence and his mind was growing fuzzy, a dark haze was creeping in, surrounding all his senses.

“I know, I’m sorry. Please don’t try to talk, Finch. Just try to relax and breathe… please keep breathing, Harold,” he urged him. “Shaw…!” John tapped his earpiece frantically, “Where are you? You have to…” he choked, “he won’t… you have to hurry!” he exclaimed frantically.

“No…, John…” Harold tried to speak again, past the pain, but it was _so hard_ with the monumental effort of breathing and the agony in his gut. With all his remaining strength he reached out for John as a wave of anguish flooded through him. “Listen… _please_ …” Harold lifted his hand to caress John’s cheek, “Don’t blame…yours…” his hand slid from John’s face leaving behind a gory streak of crimson as his strength finally and utterly gave out, falling to hang heavily against his side.

“Shh, be quiet, Harold. Just concentrate… be with me, listen to _me_.” John rocked Harold in his arms. He took his partner’s hand firmly in his own, squeezing it to gain some reassurance for himself that Finch would get through. Then John watched his partner’s frightened, pained expression fade into calm acceptance. “Damn it. Don’t you do it, Finch,” John demanded. “Don’t you dare give up!”

Shaw came in through his earwig, “ _We’re almost there, John. We’re coming!”_

Harold’s pain was distancing itself. His breaths were calming, slowing, becoming less labored and he smiled up at John. He shivered violently once more and fisted his hand around John’s arm as he gazed into his eyes. “It’s been… my honor.” His grasp slackened, releasing John’s arm and his eyes began to close, his breathing growing shallower still. 

John slapped his cheek lightly making him blink his eyes back open momentarily, “Look at me, Harold. Focus on me. I want you to know how sorry I am. I couldn’t be any sorrier for what I made you do,” John choked out. “You have to forgive me… _please._ Don’t go to sleep. Stay with me. Shaw is almost here; hang on for me, Finch… please.”

Harold pulled deep inside himself and before he fully lost his hold on consciousness he found his last reserve of energy to smile into John’s eyes, “Thank you…” He said and his head sagged forward against John’s chest.

“Finch… Harold, no, stay with me… help is on the way dammit. Open your eyes. Stay with me. Hold on.” John tapped his earwig, “Shaw!” he cried urgently.

He couldn’t bear to even think that Harold might not live long enough to get the help he needed. He had to bite his tongue not to lash out her, not to scream at her and tell her that she was taking too fucking long. His mind was spinning with _what ifs_.

“Five minutes out. How bad is it?”

 _‘He’s dying…’_ John thought desolately but couldn’t say the words aloud for fear they’d come true, “He’s bleeding out, Shaw. You have to hurry!” John tried to calm down but he retorted angrily. “If you don’t get here right away… he’s not going to make it.”

“John, calm down and do what you can,” she replied sympathetically. “I’m close.” Shaw knew he wasn’t angry at her. He was furious with himself and she couldn’t blame him.

He disconnected from Shaw and rocked Harold’s limp body in his arms, staring at the two dead men mere feet away from where he sat vigil and waited anxiously. He prayed that Shaw would be there in time, but considering all that had gone wrong in his life so far, he couldn’t truly convince himself that his best friend would live through this nightmare he created.

He held his partner close and could only wait and see what would happen this time.


	9. Chapter 9

The worst was over. Harold would live.

Shaw had arrived just in time with an ambulance and was able to stabilize him before he bled out and died in John’s arms.

After the wound in Harold’s side had been tended to initially and without complication Harold had been kept under sedation for the first twenty-four hours and drifted in and out of consciousness for a little more than two days.

Then, a short while ago and to John’s dismay, Shaw had to hurry in and administer ketamine to calm Harold down and put him back under after he'd woken up thrashing around from the pain in his chest and the inability to breathe normally on his own. They’d found out the hard way that an infection had begun and caused fluid to build up in Harold’s chest cavity, resulting in Shaw having to insert a chest tube to drain it off.

John had kept vigil over his partner every minute of the day since he came out of surgery. He’d set himself up a rolling bed right next to Harold’s, laying there silently, watching him intently for any signs of severe distress. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It looked as though every moment Harold was conscious caused him pain and even in his sleep the deep lines of discomfort were ever present in his face. He was in a daze most of the time he opened his eyes and the only sounds he made where quiet moans and whimpers. John hoped that he wouldn’t remember any of those times he broke the surface of consciousness and cried out from the agony.

The nightmares had started almost immediately and had been a terrible obstacle Harold was already experiencing. They had started much sooner than John thought they would and he ached from the sight of his partner’s suffering. Harold looked so incredibly fragile... John wanted to hold him, to wrap him in his arms and never let the world touch him again.

He leaned forward in his chair and covered the hand that rested alongside Harold’s body with his own. He scowled as he felt how cold the appendage was; his skin was like ice.

He stood up and quickly walked across the room to the closet to retrieve an additional blanket and added the extra layer to the two that already covered Harold’s body, ensuring that his hands were now covered too. With his own experience of nearly bleeding out, John knew that Harold would feel cold for a very long time as his body worked to repair the damage of losing almost half of his blood supply.

He sat back down and stared at Harold’s wan appearance. He despised himself for being so emotional, so weak, in the wake of what happened and what he’d almost lost.

Nothing would _ever_ take the profound and unrelenting regret over that day from his soul. The realization and the weight of the events that occurred would never leave him. Harold was now responsible for taking not one, but two lives because of _his_ insistence and that truth was almost too much for him to bear. The necessity of that event would end up haunting his gentle partner for the rest of his life, it was unrealistic to think otherwise and he cursed himself for ever letting Harold go near that warehouse alone.

John sat back in his chair numbly and watched the displays of the myriad of machines Harold was hooked up to, listening to the mechanical thrum they reverberated distantly.

He was thankful that the worst was over as far as Harold’s fight for life was concerned, the physical pain was going to take a very long time to overcome but Harold was used to a fair degree of that already. What concerned John most of all was the hell his partner was going to have to push through psychologically, when he woke up and remembered what he’d done, _that_ kind of pain was something else entirely.

John thought about what it was like for him the first time he’d taken someone else’s life. The memory would stay with him forever, and _he’d_ had extensive training on the subject.

Harold had _never_ wanted to be put into that position; he never wanted it but he got it just the same… John made sure of that… and he’d never forgive himself for it. 

Then he suddenly realized that in his own way, he was now punishing himself for what Harold had gone through by sitting here and watching every wave of pain pass over his partner’s face.

Every minute he lays there unconscious it’s there, and every time it exerts itself it stabs at John’s heart with piercing precision. He wants Harold to wake up; he wants to talk to him desperately. He knows he'll have to find some way of convincing Harold to accept the fact that there had been no other choice for him given the circumstance… but he also knows Harold and he knows just as sure as the sun will rise, that it will be impossible for Harold to forgive himself.

John continued to watch the numbers fluctuate on the screens, listened to the soft noise of the machinery, and his eyes grew heavy…

*************

Grace looked into his eyes in pure and utter horror, _“No, please, Harold…”_ she pleaded.

He was unsure of what she was going on about until he looked down and saw the gun in his hand. It was pointed directly at her heart and she backed away from him with her hands up defensively.

He looked at her aghast, “No, Grace. I’m not…” he exclaimed. “I would never…” How could she ever think he’d do such a thing… _how did he come to be here?_

He looked around frantically; they were in the brownstone across from Washington Square Park and he had no memory of how he got here. Everything about the scene was wrong. Grace’s fear of him, the abhorrent gun in his hand, her cries of terror.

 _“Please!”_ she cried again and collapsed to the floor. Harold shook his head in disbelief, paralyzed where he stood. He couldn’t seem to turn the gun away from her or to say anything as Grace wept despairingly. As hard as he tried to speak, to move, to wrap himself around her and reassure her that she had it all wrong, that he’d sooner die than to be a threat to her in any way, he just couldn’t seem to do any of it.

_“I love you, Harold… please don’t shoot me!!!”_

_*************_

“Grace…no!” Harold awoke violently in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping uncontrollably, trying to purge the horrific image from his mind while Grace’s heartbreaking voice of horror echoed loudly in his ears.

John was up from his chair in an instant, “Harold… I’m here.” He’d nodded off and hadn’t noticed when Harold began struggling in his sleep.

“Grace, where is she?” Harold sobbed, “Is she… is she alright?” He was convinced something had happened to her. He couldn’t forget the look on her face as he stood over her with the gun. He’d never forget the fright, the abject terror in her eyes… the fear she had of _him._

“Take it easy, Harold,” John tried to sooth his frantic partner but Harold was still trying to sit up and pull away from him, all the while sobbing her name, “Grace… Grace…”

John didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t seem to get through to him. “Please, Finch…” he tried one last time but it was no use.

Shaw had left instructions for him to sedate Harold if he had anymore nightmares and couldn’t be calmed down and was in danger of hurting himself. He had no other choice, Harold was fighting him, trying to get out of the bed, pulling the IV’s out in the process. Blood was everywhere and he feared Harold would open up the wound in his side again. He had no choice.

John choked back his own desolation and administered the sedative.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcomed and appreciated, thanks!


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